


Vienna 2014

by Schattenecho



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Andrés speaks German, Animal methaphors, At the Opera Ball, But related to my older works, Dancing, Fix-It, I love Vienna, In Vienna, It need fluff in my life, Kissing, Love-sick Martín, M/M, Moody Andrés, One Shot, Partners in Crime, They both deserve this, They both do, This is fluff, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenecho/pseuds/Schattenecho
Summary: The Vienna Opera Ball. An event filled with glamour, whispering, champange and stars. And the perfect place for important heist-planning work. But with a moody Andrés, a love-sick Martín and little bit too much of everything the outcome is more than unpredictable.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Vienna 2014

“Martín, we’ve got a problem.”  
The engineer looked up from his equations. His whole notebook was filled with them, he had written them in his barely readable, small, fast handwriting. A handwriting, Andrés could sometimes read better than he himself.  
He tried to focus, but it wouldn’t work properly. For days he was extremely sensitive for Andrés emotions. As always, when his friend had been through a divorce, his temper wasn’t stable. In these times he tended to quiet spectacular emotional outbreaks.   
More than once he had woken Martín in the middle of the night, because he needed someone to share his thoughts and feelings with. Sometimes it was dancing (which Martín actually fancied), sometimes it was a giant outburst of fury and rage (in which Martín had been hit with shards of plates and glasses more than once).   
Martín put his pen down and looked at Andrés. He sighed inwardly, closed his notebook and put on a innocent smile:  
“Tell me, how is the world going to end?”  
“The Opera Ball is tomorrow and I don’t have an escort.”  
Andrés lived in Vienna for two weeks now. He had moved in an elegant flat directly after his divorce. His landlady was an intelligent, openhearted architect, who obviously enjoyed her newest, cultivated and polite tenant. She and her husband would go on a little trip to Venice, but they had been given two tickets to the Opera Ball from a friend.   
So the tickets ended up in Andrés’s pocket.  
“I should have waited a bit before I divorce.”, Andrés wasn’t in a good mood.   
You already waited too long, Martín thought, but he said:  
“Do you actually need one?”  
“Are you kidding? Martín, look at me: Are you kidding me?”, so, an this was the point, where the plates could begin to fly.  
Martín tensed, crossed his arms and leaned back. He knew, that Andrés was seconds away from an outburst. He didn’t want to provoke him.   
“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Andrés bowed over the table until his nose was just a millimetre away from Martín’s. He had this wolf’s grin, that seemed designed to put the fear of God (more precisely the fear of Andrés) into anyone who dared to look him into the eye. Martín felt a shiver running down his spine, but not the usual tickling one, that happened when Andrés was near him. He felt the sudden urge to unclench his black turtleneck.   
In this moment his friend was a snarling wild wolf, who played a cruel game with him to find out if he was prey or not.  
But apparently he wasn’t hungry enough, because Andrés pulled back und dropped into an armchair. Martín allowed himself to relax a bit.   
“Usually I would be quite pleased to have a chance to numb my disappointment with a pretty little One-night-stand, but this is too important for such a distraction.”  
“Is this ball really so important to you?”  
“It’s against every etiquette to go without any companionship.”, Andrés sounded choked, but his tone changed almost immediately to professional: “Furthermore, as I’ve told you, the planning team is the biggest weakness of the bank of Spain. Especially the head of planning. His name is Willhelm Holzbauer. He built the bank for Franco and then took a chair in architecture at the Academy for Design here in Vienna. He’ll be there tomorrow, probably with a too young student as his date.”  
“And this means for us…?”, Martín leaned on his elbows: “When he’s gone we break into his office and steal the blueprints. Mission accomplished. I see no problem.”  
“Oh, trust me, they are more than one. Holzbauer is old, but not an idiot. I’ve been in his office, the vault isn’t peanuts. Definitely too secure to open it without unwanted attention.”  
“Okay, then we find a student, who gets us the passcode and do this quick and silent.”  
“Right idea, wrong execution. The man fucks his students, but he doesn’t trust them. Even if, it wouldn’t matter. The passcode has seven digits and changes with every opening.”  
“You mean, this is a TAC-System?”  
Andrés nodded grumpy.  
“Puta mierda!”, Martín swore: “After every opening the new code is sent to his phone, right? And let me guess, he always carries it with him.”  
“Yes, and that’s exactly why I needed Dominique.”  
Dominique was Andrés newest ex-wife, she earned her living with conmanship and pickpocketing. She had been really talented. But she had been more than clear that Andrés could go fuck himself.  
If you need a thief, I could go with you, Martín thought. He knew, that he had never forgotten his old skills. He always kept his fingers ductile and smooth.   
Andrés mumbled in resignation:  
“The opportunity is ideal. More than that. It’s a once in a life time chance!”  
“You could try his escort. The student.”, Martín suggested.  
“Tomorrow is too little time, even for me. And I’m just not interested in women right now.”  
Martín couldn’t think of anything else to say. The ball really was the perfect time to steal a phone. A lot a people, all dressed similar, nearly no CCTV and more than enough distractions. Andrés was right: A once in a life time chance.  
He heard the Spaniard bristling with anger and getting up from the chair. The flat wasn’t that big, Andrés would probably spend the next hours roaming around in it until it was time for an also grumpy dinner.  
Martín sighed, looked at his unfinished work and decided it wouldn’t be finished today.  
“Andrés!”, he heard his steps in the foyer: “Are you up for a walk?”  
“You want to uplift my mood? It’s not working.”  
“Come on. The weather is good and nothing gets better, when you just stay here. And I need some fresh air, before I get totally mad.”  
Andrés made a mumbling noise, but when Martín entered the foyer his friend just put on his shoes. The Argentine took his leatherjacket, prepared for possibly freezing temperatures outside. It was unusually warm, but still winter in Vienna not in his sunny Palermo. 

He guessed right. The sun was string and bright on the blue sky, but the wind blew sharp and cold through the streets. Martín wore already gloves, but still buried his hands deep in his pockets. Andrés’ mood lifted extremely in the last minutes. They had walked through the Mariahilfer Street, the big shopping street of Vienna, to the Ring, the big road circling the inner city.   
Martín only was been in Vienna for a couple of days, he lived with Andrés as guest and had spent the majority of his time working or trying to tame the moods of his best friend. He hadn’t had enough time to enjoy the city’s beauty properly.  
And beauty it was.   
All the old houses, that were surrounded by this imperial aura, as this was still the capital of an empire. The palais and parks, the old tramways, that drove ringing through the city. The Fiaker, the traditional carriages and the whole Ring, that had been built for the single purpose of walking on it. If the weather had been better, he would live here and not on Palermo.  
Andrés walked directly by his side, their arms constantly touched each other. But nobody cared. Personal space was a foreign concept to both of them. Andrés always touched him, his arm, his shoulders, his neck, his chest and back, sometimes even his face.  
Martín never pointed this out, he really enjoyed this little familiar touches. He didn’t dare to touch Andrés in this way, mainly because he feared he would go to far and would lose this precious thing.  
He looked after his breathe forming white clouds in the cold air.   
They just walked by the Opera. The preparations for the ball were full in progress. The workers, all dressed in black, practical clothes, were just rolling out a giant red carpet.  
“Martín, do you know what I’ve been thinking since we left the flat?”, Andrés looked at the beautiful façade of the building, while a small smile sneaked on his face.  
“That it’s colder, than expected? Yes, you’re damn right.”, Martín rubbed his arms.  
“No, you just always dress too cold.”  
“That’s what you call gay aesthetics. And I am more than proud of it.”  
“You are from Argentina. You folks are proud of everything. But that was not the thing I really meant: There is a really easy solution for my problem.”  
“You forget your stupid etiquette and go alone?”  
“No, I made clear, that this just not going to happen on my watch. But nobody told me to choose a female companion.”  
“You mean…”  
“You are my companion.”  
Martín felt his blood rushing to his cheeks at lightspeed. In a split second he wasn’t cold anymore, but extremely hot.   
“I… I am you… companion. Tomorrow. At a ball.”, he stuttered.   
He felt hotter with every word and even more blood rushed to his cheeks. Only the imagination…  
It was one of many others, not so chaste things, he dreamt sometimes (often, very often, so damn often) of tonight.   
Andrés grinned his wolf’s grin, while he ambled along:  
“A pretty nice idea, actually.”, he rolled his shoulders, a gesture he always used to express his anticipation: “This can be great. In all these years I’ve never seen you in the real fancy clothes.”  
“But… I can’t… I don’t have any. I don’t have wardrobe for a ball.”, this was ridiculous. Why couldn’t he say one single right, straight sentence, just because Andrés caught him one time a little bit off guard. What the hell was he doing?  
Normally he was also able to control his emotions! He forced himself to look at Andrés, hoping that his face wasn’t glowing anymore.   
“Oh, Martín, don’t give me this desperate look.”, Andrés taunted him smiling: “We are in Vienna. There is more than one tailor for such things here. The best one is in the next street.”, the Spaniard seemed to be really excited about his idea, because he dragged Martín with him immediately.  
“But…”  
“No but.”, Andrés interrupted him: “You are coming with me. It’s necessary for the plan. So stop playing hard to get. You like dancing, right? And I imagine, that you look more than good in a tuxedo.”  
Martín wanted to say yes, he wanted to link arms with Andrés, huddle against his shoulder and kiss him on the cheek. But the compulsion and barriers he put up for himself, these things forced his urge back into the dark corner of Martín’s mind, where it was chained.   
He had to hurry to keep up with Andrés fast pace, so he could at least keep a little bit of his dignity. He thought of a way to get out of this:  
“Let’s play a game of Poker for it.”  
“Martín, don’t try it. We both know, that you always win. You and your damn mathematics. Why do you even act so coyly?”  
“I’m just not prepared. Besides I’ve never been to a ball…”  
“You’re gonna like it. An entire eventing made for gossip and dancing.”  
Martín had taken back control. He had overreacted extremely and thinking about it, nothing bad happened. The contrary, this was more than pleasing.   
If he could keep it together, when he danced Slow-Dance with Andrés at night in the dark, this couldn’t be a real problem. He relaxed and smiled again.   
Andrés seemed to know exactly where they were heading, because they stopped in front of a completely normal looking door. The only thing, that differed from an average door was the golden, elegant sign that read: k. und k. tailor for men’s clothing, Engelbert Adler, established 1873.

“Well, may I?”, in a half-ironic gesture Andrés offered him his arm. Martín decided to play this game properly. Without hesitation he took the offer und laid his hand on Andrés Arm. Andrés chuckled, but didn’t say a word. Personal space was a foreign concept.   
Because it just couldn’t be anything else, Andrés wore proper tails under his open black coat. Martín had to force himself not to stare permanently.   
Andrés looked awesome, the waisted cut, the inevitable pair of with gloves and the white silk scarf, everything fitted his skinny shape perfectly.   
Martín nearly felt underdressed, although he wore a tailored tuxedo. The tailor made an excellent job. His first and only piece of Haute-Couture.   
A big crowd of journalist and photographers stood in front of the Opera on both sides of the red carpet and waited for any celebrity to walk by to realise a thunderstorm of flashlights.   
At first Andrés and Martín didn’t draw attention to themselves, but when the photographers realised that two men were walking around arm in arm, their attention shifted to them.  
Chattering rose and the big quiz started.  
Who were these men?  
They looked like someone to know.   
Martín was used to such glances. He never made a secret out of his eccentric or his sexual preferences. It was his careful polished fur, that protected him against the countless insults and threats he had to hear in his life. Curious glances from a bunch of confused journalists weren’t nearly enough to scare him.   
He looked to Andrés, who had put on his charming, but slightly sneering grin, which he used on most strangers, he saw as more stupid than himself. So, all strangers.   
Martin knew only one person, who didn’t get this glance. And he was proud to be this one person.  
Martín smiled sheepishly, while he stared at Andrés and scanned ever centimetre of Andrés’ profile. The sharp features of his face, his white teeth. His burning black eyes with their characteristic glitter.   
I want to kiss him. Now.  
Stop.  
This was the deal he made with himself. He would allow himself to enjoy this evening, but when he was about to cross the magical line, he had to push himself back. A push, that felt like a razorblade in his flesh.   
They entered the porticus of the Opera. The chattering went silent and the smell of expensive, exquisite parfum came out of the inside of the building.   
“Well.”, Andrés threw an excited look at him: “Ready for battle?”  
“I don’t really have a choice anymore, right?”  
“Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more.”  
“The last time you quoted Shakespeare it ended up, with me in a prison. For three months. In Yemen.”  
“Don’t worry, I’ve been told that the prisons here are much nicer.”  
Andrés laughed over his little tease, before he dragged Martín with him inside. 

The smell outside was just a taste of the breath-taking atmosphere behind the door. A giant crowd of extremely well-dressed people was standing around in the lobby, drank champagne and waited at the wardrobe to put their coats away. Martín recognised some of the people from the news and the cover of magazines he had seen in the last few days.   
Andrés leaned to him and whispered the names and some little pieces of information about the people to Martín:  
“The man over there, that is the Secretary of Foreign Affairs. Sebastian Kurz, he’s gonna be the next Chancellor.”  
“And who is the blonde next to him? His alibi or what?”  
“Yes, I know. The whole city knows, but he is running for the conservatives. If his supporters knew, that he is fucking his Chief of Staff… Let’s say, it would make things difficult.”  
“The guy next to him? That is his Chief of Staff?”, Martín scanned the young man from feet to head and rose his eyebrow: “Not completely uninteresting, but boring.”   
Andrés made a tiny, somehow displeased sounding noise and continued the little society-safari in the direction of the wardrobe. Actors, politicians, models, directors, businessmen, a zoo of famous people.   
Martín felt even more eyes watching him. Not so obvious as outside, but for a person with such a sensitive radar, more than recognisable. He doesn’t mind.  
He focussed on the great atmosphere and the glamorous event. He just liked it too much. Martín decided to like this city despite of the bad weather.   
“Your coat.”, Andrés ripped him out of his thought process.  
Martin realised, that the distance between him and Andrés wasn’t existing anymore. He used the opportunity to create a bit of space, while he took off his coat. Hopefully Andrés had been too occupied with the people around him to recognise it.  
It seemed, that he was lucky this time, because the Spaniard just put the cloakroom tickets in his inner pocket, laid his arm around Martín’s waist and guided him to the main entrance of the great hall. 

The hall was breathe taking. Lodges and galleries ranged five floors high to the gleaming ceiling. The golden plastering shined in the light of the giant chandeliers and the countless smaller lamps. There were bouquets of flowers everywhere, especially designed for this one evening.   
For one moment Martín forgot about the event, about his job, about Andrés (no, that’s a lie. He couldn’t forget Andrés. Never). All the sparkle of the gold was mirrored in his bright shining eyes, like thousands of burning stars.   
Andrés did nothing about it. He understood every single of his friend’s expressions. This hall was a masterpiece. He smiled, warm and welcoming, just for a second. Martín looked at him with a childish smile, which was answered with a triumphant grin:  
“You didn’t want to come.”  
“Yes, and I laugh at myself now.”  
“Well, that’s a characteristic of this city. Come on, the opening ceremony will start in 20 minutes. Enough time to get some champagne.”  
More and more people filled the ranks, they hovered through the floors, covered in an invisible aura of glamour. Human beings, like moths between whispering, champagne and stars.   
Andrés didn’t show it, but a very similar feeling pulsed through his veins. This event combined some of his favourite things: Grandeur and taste, elegance and the chance for a little intervention of crime, to spice things up a bit. And, of course, Martín.   
It was this moment he realised, that his friend was gone.  
“You wanted champagne. Cheers.”  
Andrés turned around. The argentine handed him a skinny glass filled with a sparkling liquid. Andrés took it and with one gesture of his arm, he had Martín’s hand back on his arm. They continued the little walk back to the main hall.

“Do you know, where Holzbauer sits?”, Martín was still fascinated by this place, but he had to be professional right now.   
“No. But I have an idea, how to find him. But before that…”  
A bell rang.  
The people turned quiet and looked for the places with the best sight on the dancefloor. Martín felt the rising tension in the room.   
A man in tails entered the room, walked to the orchestra, bowed in direction of the hall, before he rose both arms and gave the musicians the signal to start.  
The doors to the dancefloor were opened by two men in uniforms and two rows of pairs entered the room, perfectly choreographed.   
The dance was wonderful. Every step, every turn, it all looked perfect and created a glittering, moving piece of art. It was extremely pleasing for Martín’s symmetry loving eyes. 

Suddenly the music changed. The characteristic ¾ time of a waltz started. Not a waltz. The waltz. The Blue Danube, Johann Strauss’s masterpiece.   
A small, bald man appeared next to the conductor. He was given a microphone, gave the conductor a nod and smiled to the audience:  
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Vienna Opera Ball. For 70 years now, this ball is the undisputed climax of the world-wide ball season. And so, it’s a special honour to me to open it this year. And now: Alles Walzer!”  
It was the signal everybody had waited for. Everything with legs was on the dancefloor in seconds. Martín looked anticipating to Andrés, who already had reach out to him. He was more than willing to accept the offer.   
It wasn’t the first time they danced together and Martín always enjoyed it. But he had never experienced such a wave of euphoria. He felt like drugged and stumbling, although he hadn’t drunk that much. Andrés led, of course, as he always did and Martín just let himself be guided. His feet followed the step pattern on their own.  
“So, watch out.”  
“What?”, Martín looked at the Spaniard like he just woke up from a beautiful dream. His eyes were nearly open and he smiled dreamy.  
“Holzbauer is nearly 70, grey, wavy hairs.”, Andrés explained: “He has glasses, black frame and thick lentils.”  
Martín had to shake his head to wake up completely. He had to concentrate now. This was work. He forced his glance away from Andrés, over his friend’s shoulder to scan the other guests:  
“I see three men, who fit the description.”   
Half-turn.  
“It’s not the one with tails. Too skinny.”, Andrés eyed the three men.  
Half-turn.  
“Two left. No, wait, three. I haven’t seen this one.”, Martín had no problem with the split seconds he had to look at the men.   
He learned speed-reading when he was just sixteen years old. Back then, Andrés and him had been kidnapped by the FARC in Bogotá. The Guerrilleros had mistaken them for tourists, because of the foreign accents. Martín had lived through some terrible weeks, where he had to fear for his life every single minute. To get some distraction, he had taught himself to read as quick as possible using an explosives manual, he had stolen from one of his guards.   
“It’s not the one in tails.”, Andrés claimed: “He’s too skinny.”  
Half-turn.  
“So, the one in tuxedo?”, Martín asked: “The girl really is way too young.”  
Half-turn.   
“Don’t worry. I take care of her.”, Andrés turned them around again.  
“Are you cheating on me?”, is was a joke, but Martín felt a heavy stab in his chest, when he said it.  
Half-turn.  
“Jealousy doesn’t fit you. Did you recognise his right inner pocket?”  
Half-turn.  
“Left inner pocket.”, Martín corrected after a quick glance.   
Half-turn.   
Andrés grinned, like he did the mistake on purpose. It wouldn’t be uncharacteristic.   
The waltz faded out; the majority of pairs left the dancefloor. The orchestra didn’t stop, but changed the waltz.   
The Spaniard set out for their target, the heavy breathing Holzbauer.  
“May I?”, Andrés gallantly offered the young lady his hand. His German was faultless but with a strong accent. Martín knew, that his own pronunciation much better, but he decided to remain silent.  
The architect put on a forced smile and nodded:  
“Of course.”  
The lady didn’t seem to be sad about the change of her partner. Martín was. Andrés left him without a glance.   
Holzbauer shook his head in disbelieve:   
“Understanding women… Or men.”  
“Perdon?“, he had understood every word, but this was a welcomed advantage for his plan.  
“Your partner seems to be interested in a lot of things. And the only thing left for us, is the part of the tragic lover, right?”, he didn’t even seem to think about speaking Spanish to communicate properly.   
Despite of that Martín nodded understandingly, while his eyes followed Andrés through the room with a melancholic look.   
“Come on, let’s get a glass of champagne. I’ll pay.”  
“Gracias.”   
They left the great hall and the music behind. The left inner pocket, right. He just needed an excuse to come near his target.   
“Where are you from? Mexico? You don’t look like it.”  
“Äh, no, de Argentina.”, it was pretty funny to play an idiot.   
“Argentina? I’ve once had a couple of students from Rosario and Cordoba. And you are from where exactly?”  
“Buenos Aires.”  
“Uh, a great city. Wonderful architecture. And a good university.”  
Martín nodded in vague agreement:  
“I’m sorry, your – cómo se dice? – “, he pointed at his own bowtie: “out of place.”  
“That happens every time; I always make them too loose. Could you?”, he stopped and exposed hid throat to Martín.  
With one hand he tightened the bowtie, while his other hand slipped into the inner pocket. He felt the phone. This was nearly too easy.   
“Here you go.”, Martín let the small device disappear in his pocket.   
“Thank you very much. You have done than before, right? What are you doing for living?”  
“Soy… an architect.”   
“A colleague. I could have thought of that. Well.”, he took two glasses from a walking by waiter: “To the architecture and the tragic lovers. Shall they never end.”  
“Salud.”, Martín drank all the liquid at once.

“There you are.”, Andrés voice sounded sonorous and amused as always. With the young student at his side he ambled down the hallway. He left the girl’s side, indicated a little bow and kissed her hand:  
“A charming dance.”, he turned to Holzbauer: “You are very lucky with your companion. Thank you, that you took care of my partner. I don’t want him getting bad ideas.”  
Martín threw him an angry glance, which was just answered with his wolf’s grin.   
“The pleasure was all mine.”, Holzbauer laid his arm possessive around the girl’s waist. He was obviously not interested in continuing this conversation. 

“You had to kiss her hand, seriously?”, Martín tried not to show the pain he felt. It worked pretty well. He had watched Andrés for times marring someone else and had to pretend to be happy.   
“Good manners are a standard in Vienna. The plan so far?”  
Martín took the phone out of his pocket:  
“Everything done.”  
Martín grinned proudly, while Andrés took the phone smiling fondly:  
“The same little thief I’ve always known.”  
It could have been an insult, but Martín knew, that it was one of the kindest things Andrés had ever said to him. And like a docile dog this little pat on the head was enough to tie his heart a bit stronger to Andrés. To tight, that it would kill him, if he just moved a single centimetre.   
“So, work’s done for tonight. It’s time to turn to the more pleasant things.”, the Spaniard smiled.

Maybe Martín had been a bit too excited about this point. He had never skipped an opportunity to get drunk on expensive alcohol. He wasn’t really drunk, not seriously. Just a bit tipsy. Maybe a bit more than just a bit.   
“Martín, I think, we should walk home. A bit of fresh air won’t hurt you.”  
“Whatever you suggest.”, he smiled like an idiot.  
They had already left the Opera, but he still walked arm in arm with Andrés. On one hand he didn’t really trust his legs, on the other hand (and yes it was the real reason) he just wanted to do it. It was way too comfortable to stop. And as long as Andrés didn’t say a word, he wouldn’t stop.   
The night was clear and as cold as ice, but Martín felt so inebriated, that he didn’t mind the cold. This was mainly due to the Andrés body-heat at his side.  
His friend always seemed calm, perfectly balanced like an ancient rock. Even in his after-divorce-moodiness, Andrés was more comparable to an ocean. The surface could move, could wave, could kill. But the dark, cool, mysterious deep would never be touched by any of these things.   
The complete opposite to Martín who lived his life from day to day. He was a creature of the here and now, always embracing the moment. Living in permanent fear and uncertainty, that everything could end in a split second.   
Andrés was a wolf, on the top of the food chain, who could create the environment he wanted, who didn’t follow any rules or laws, despite the one he had given himself.   
If this was true, what was Martín?  
A rabbit? No, he wasn’t weak and his life wasn’t fearful enough. He knew his value; he knew that many people feared him. His intelligence, his unscrupulousness, his sheer unpredictability, he had never attempted to control. He was dangerous. Suddenly he knew what he was: He was a fox.  
“What are you saying? You had a bit too much.”  
Martín hadn’t recognised it, but he started speaking his thought out loud. He blushed immediately and his face turned extremely hot.  
“Nothing, I’m just tired.”, he murmured: “I can handle alcohol, you know?”  
“I know, that you are often a bit exaggerating in such matters.”  
“You are exaggerating.”, Martín replied in a not very creative way.  
So uncreative, that Andrés smiled a bit:  
“First of all you are stubborn. Come on, stand up straight. You are nearly sleeping standing.”  
He followed the order out of reflex. Because he always did.   
Andrés profile looked sharp and hyper realistic against the pale, bright light of the lanterns. His breath shined like a transparent veil of silver silk.   
He was unearthly beautiful in this moment. The light created a gleaming halo around his head. He looked like an angel coming directly from heaven. Martín starred at him, like he had never seen a human before.   
Martín leaned to him, he wanted to kiss his angel.   
At the last second the chains in his mind dragged his desire back into their prison. It was not allowed.   
They walked up the Mariahilfer Street, crossing the closed shops and their dark windows. Not a soul came across their way, they were completely alone. Nobody would see it. But that was not the point in this affair.   
He trotted ahead, his heart beating in his head.   
They reached Andrés’ door. Martín couldn’t remember the way they walked to it. He was tired, and exhausted, and drunk. He wanted to sleep and he wanted to cry. Just to get this pressure of emotions out of his head.   
A pressure that eased the chains faster than usual. When Andrés put the key in the keyhole, he stared at his face. If Andrés had looked up now, they would’ve stand nose to nose. He hold his breath, the clicking of the lock sounded too loud in his ears.   
The door opened to the inside. Only problem: Martín leaned against the door.   
He stumbled back, tripped over his own feet and would have fallen, but Andrés caught him by his coat’s collar. For one moment he hung completely helpless mid fall, before Andrés pulled him straight up.   
And this was the moment, they stood closer than ever. Martín lifted his head and starred directly into his friend’s nearly black eyes. He held his breath again.   
“Oh Martín.”, Andrés smiled, it was still visible in the shadiness. His wide pupils and his dark irises formed two dark, reflective spots in the white of his eyes. The eyes of a predator:  
“Do you think I’m stupid?”  
The Argentine swallowed hard. He was stunned  
“Do you really think, I wouldn’t recognise all this? The way you look at me? The way you look at the people I look to? Do you really think, I wouldn’t feel your heartbeat rising, every time I touch you? How long are you carrying this thing with you? I know it since my visit to Sicily. That would be four years. But I guess it is going on for much longer.”  
“What am I carrying with me?”, Martín’s voice was choked, he fought against his tears.  
Andrés knew. Of course, he knew. Andrés knew everything about him. He felt the floor shifting under his feet. His whole life since he had been fifteen years old, since the moment he had met Andrés, disappeared in a second.  
His jaw started to tremble; he felt the tears running down his cheeks. A silent sob escaped his mouth.   
“Martín.”, Andrés wiped the tears away with a soft touch: “Stop it. Stop lying to me.”   
More and more tears floated.   
It was over. Everything was over. Andrés smiled at him. Martín felt his heart breaking under this smile.  
“Ts, ts, ts tears? You don’t even know, what I am going to say.”  
This was enough.  
Martín pushed him back, stumbled a couple of steps back. His face was covered in tears and he didn’t bother anymore to hide them:  
“I don’t know, what you are going to say!? What could it be, eh!?”, Martín yelled, but he didn’t care: “I’ve watched you getting married to women you didn’t know for more than a few months four times. I’ve stood by and smiled for you, because I didn’t want you see my pain. I know, that you don’t love me. Not like I love you. For you I’m just a funny little pet that jumps around, when you throw him a bone. And now you are going to say me that you can’t use such emotions. Not if you want to work with me furthermore. You cast me out. And because I love you, I will obey your command. So, come on! Push me over the edge! Come on! Tell me!”  
Sobs interrupted him, he started to stumble and his legs wobbled. He didn’t get enough oxygen anymore his vision turned black on the edges.   
Suddenly he felt Andrés’s warm hands on his cheeks. The touch was gentle and comforting. His heart was ripped apart. Andrés could do this to him.  
He just could’ve gone away, Martín would had preferred it, if his friend had yelled at him or had beaten him. But he wasn’t even given this small mercy.  
“Are you really thinking that? That I would say such things?”, Andrés gently forced Martín to look at him again: “If you think that, maybe I shouldn’t say anything anymore.”

Martín’s heart stopped, when he suddenly felt foreign lips on his own. He trembled, as his brain was going crazy and didn’t manage to send proper signals to his body. And then one simple thought rose from the chaos:   
Andrés was kissing him.   
Martín could not decide what was real and what was not, his senses went nuts. He only knew, that this was the thing he always wanted.  
He desperately pulled the Spaniard closer to him, one arm around his neck and one hand clawed in his collar.   
The kiss turned more intensive and wilder, more desirous and hungrier. Martín wanted more. His lips were already bleeding, and he couldn’t breath properly. But he wanted more, so much more.   
Andrés seemed to have a similar thought, because Martín’s coat and his jacket landed on the floor.  
Suddenly Martín stopped.  
“Andrés, wait. For a moment, wait.”, he gasped  
“Are you fainting?”, Andrés grinned, but his red cheeks and his heavy breathing showed his passion more than clear.  
“I’m afraid.”  
“What?”  
“I’m afraid to destroy all this.”, Martín glanced at the floor in embarrassment.  
“Oh, Martín.”, Andrés cupped his cheeks: “You are so cute. If you are afraid, then we don’t do it. Or we do it later. I’ve destroyed to many good things in my life. And this is way too important to gamble with it.”   
Martín looked at him. His eyes, normally sparkling tauntingly and dangerously, were filled with pure love. His smile was bright ad honest, caring and trusting.  
He dragged Andrés into a clinging hug and hide his face at his chest:  
“Thank you. Just thank you.”  
“Of course. Come on, it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”  
Andrés gave him a chaste kiss, laid his arm around his waist and guided him to his bedroom.

Martín curled up at Andrés side and soaked in a deep breath of his unique smell. He felt a hand drawing patterns on his hair and he literally started to purr. Andrés’ chest vibrated when he laughed silently:  
“A little kitten. I thought, I had a fox.”  
He had heard it. Martín’s strangely sophisticated thoughts about animals.   
Martín lazily rose his head and looked up to Andrés:   
“Andrés?”  
“Yes?”  
“I love you. I just love you really, really much.”


End file.
